Apocalypse, Please
by Lily Ophelia
Summary: In 2014, Meg finds Castiel at Camp Chitaqua. Written for ivekilledalotmoreforalotless on Tumblr.


Meg couldn't help but laugh when she stumbled into Camp Chitaqua almost a year after being killed by Crowley. It had taken her too long to get here and she could smell the pot smoke drifting from the cabin nearby.

"This is what they do in the time of the Apocalypse," she muttered to herself through her swollen mouth.

Bloody, filthy, and somewhat decomposed, the moment she had pulled herself up through the earth, she had been sucked into her old vessel which had been, to her surprise, buried in a simple unmarked grave somewhere outside Lucifer's crypt.

She wondered who it had been that had so thoughtfully dug her a hole in the ground…not the Winchesters, she was sure of that.

She had been falling though the deepest recesses of Hell before she managed to grasp a hold of a ledge which held bumbling, drooling, mess of a soul who had been sitting on it for the last hundred years, and with no remorse, shove him off to take his place. She was newer and stronger than him, and despite having been almost beaten to death before, she had been able to drag herself up onto it where she too had sat until she had been able to figure out a way to get out. Death had not been a welcome sight and it had taken all she had to avoid going to that place that held not even the psychopomp knew what. It had taken a year and a half of fighting insane demons and the other corrupted souls before she had finally made it.

After digging herself out, she had wandered for a day before she had found the first Croat-infested hoard of human zombies. They had sniffed her, but then left her alone, finding her dead flesh unappetizing. Finding human colonies along the way, she had snuck through them in the dead of night, and had heard whisperings of a man named Winchester who held down a place known as Camp Chitaqua.

And here it was…finally.

It was heavily guarded, with a ragtag bunch of humans with guns watching from the makeshift gates surrounding the camp.

Well, it was now or never. It wasn't like she could die from being shot at. Stepping out of the woods into the guard's sight, she opened her mouth and yelled,

"DEAN WINCHESTER!"

Pointing their guns at her, one of the guards yelled back, "How do you know Winchester? Who are you?!"

Dean appeared suddenly beside him and Meg smirked (well, as best she could with the tattered remains of a mouth she had) at him.

"Hiya, cupcake."

"Meg?" he asked in growing disbelief.

"In the flesh," she said holding out her arms. A bit fell off onto the ground which she looked at with amusement. "Well, sort of."

"I thought you were dead."

"I was," said in a bored tone. Knowing Dean this would probably take awhile.

"I mean, dead, dead," he continued. "Like gone and never coming back."

"Don't hurt yourself Dean," she mocked him. "I hear you're the big bad leader around here. Wouldn't do for you to lose anymore brain cells than you've already lost."

To her immense surprise, he cracked a smile and lowered his gun. "It's her," he said to the other guards. He looked back down at her and said, "You look like hell." Then he let out a laugh. "Wait until Castiel gets a look at you!"

Meg felt her heart leap involuntarily in her chest, but did her best to ignore it. "He's still alive?" she asked cautiously as the gate opened for her.

The smile fell from his face as he looked behind him towards the cabin from which she had smelled the scent of marijuana on her way in.

"He's not the same," was all he said, and then motioned her to follow him.

They found him meditating in the cabin reeking of marijuana and surrounded by a crowd of pretty girls in various states of undress

"Well, well, what a sight for sore eyes," Meg said sarcastically. "Guess Cas finally figured what to do with that thing between his legs."

Startled, Cas opened his eyes and his lips parted slightly in shock. "Meg?" he whispered, clearly not believing his eyes. "Is that you?"

Meg grinned as the girls around her pulled back in disgust at her filthy rotting body.

"Hiya, Clarence. Happy to see me?"

"Oh my God!" One of the girls wherein little more than her underwear gasped in shock at Meg's appearance."You smell terrible! And are you rotting?"

"Who's Clarence?" Another with wide eyes asked in genuine curiosity.

"No one," Castiel said quickly, getting to his feet, never taking his eyes off her. "Meg."

Her name sounded so…clean on his lips, and she wanted to kiss them. That was when he ordered everyone out.

"Even you, Dean." He said in a voice that broached no argument.

With a stiff nod, Dean did as he was asked, much to Meg's surprise.

"Since when does Dean Winchester obey any order but his own?" she asked wryly through the gash that was her mouth.

"You look like shit," Castiel said ignoring her question. "And Lisa was right. You smell terrible."

"Ooh, I missed your insults," she cooed, taking a step closer. She could smell him, a mixture of weed, sandalwood, and the faintest scent of heaven…of angel. But it was almost gone. That was when she noticed his wings were gone.

"Where are your wings?" she asked, all traces of amusement gone from her voice. "And why do you smell like a hippie?"

"They're gone," he said simply. "I'm mostly human now." He began to walk, seemingly unable to stand still before her. "I find I like the scent of sandalwood. It calms me."

"As does the pot, I'll bet" she said dryly.

"Yes," he said, cocking his head to the side. "It keeps me from going mad."

"Mad, huh? I know a little something about Mad. It's called Hell." Despair welled up inside her. If his Grace was gone, she was shit out of luck. This body would fall apart and unless she found another, she would be a goner…again.

She laughed but it came out a hoarse coughing sound instead. Castiel screwed his face as blood sprayed onto his blue linen shirt.

"Ew," he said.

"Oh can it, Clarence," she snapped, losing her temper. "When you come back from Hell in one piece after a year, you can look at me like that all you want. Until then—"

"I knew you would come back." He interrupted her, looking at the floor. "Somehow."

She snapped her mouth shut in surprise. "What?"

He nodded, meeting her eyes...almost shyly. "I buried your body in the hope that you would find it. I admit after six months I sort of gave up hope."

"That was you?" Her mouth dried up and she felt dizzy.

"Yeah," he answered softly.

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it," she said bitterly. "This body is going to fall apart at any moment."

In a sudden fit of despair, she pulled on her hair and a clump of it fell into her hand along with a chunk of bloody scalp. A sob escaped her throat and she hated herself for it.

But Castiel didn't blink. Instead he stepped closer and reaching out, took her face between his hands and wiped the blood away with the tears.

Before she could react, she felt a warm glow spread from him to her belly where it burrowed deep within her. Unable to tear her eyes from his, she watched his eyes burn bright and then fade to a dull brown. When he stepped back there was sorrow on his face.

"How did you do that?" she breathed out, touching her cheeks which felt smooth, unblemished and she felt…whole…or at least as whole as she had as a demon. She couldn't really remember her time as a human.

"I—I was saving that," he replied, looking somewhere off over her head. "I only had enough power for one last healing."

He shrugged, looking embarrassed.

"I always thought it would go to Dean, but…"

He shrugged again and let his shoulders slump at down.

"Why would you do that?" She asked quietly, peering up into his large eyes which reluctantly met hers. "Why would you use the last of your Grace on me?"

"I—" He stopped and looked at her helplessly. "It wasn't dong me any good, Meg. I was saving it for a special case, and you were just that."

"But I'm a demon," she pressed.

"Don't push me!" he snapped suddenly. "I have to go get ready for the…"

He trailed off and blushed.

"Orgy?" she suggested helpfully.

"Shut up," he replied sourly. "Since we are pretty much full, you can sleep in my room. I have room."

"I bet you do," she purred, thrusting her chin at him. "Are you sure you can handle me in your bed, Clarence?"

He cocked his head again in that way that made her want to kiss him. "I have learned much since the last time I saw you, Meg. You might actually be surprised."

And with that he was gone.

"Well color me impressed," she murmured to herself.

If she were being honest with herself, she wasn't sure what to make of this new Castiel.

He was sexy and sure of himself—everything he never used to be.

She was mulling this over waiting for his "orgy," or whatever it was, to be over. Having found another one of his hippie shirts, she had discarded her tattered clothing and pulled it on, inhaling his scent once again. She even found a pair of clean panties hiding in his clothes ("what a naughty boy" she thought gleefully), and after putting them on, flopped onto his bed. She buried her face in his patchwork quilt and some long distant memory overcame her. But it was soon gone, and with a sigh, she turned over onto her back—

-and found herself staring up into Castiel's amused face.

"Jesus!" she exclaimed, jerking off the bed in surprise. "That's creepy, Cas, you know that?"

"You're the demon in my bed," he replied easily before pulling off his shirt revealing a somewhat muscular chest. Busying himself with brushing his teeth, it allowed her to get a closer look at him.

"Hello, baby," she murmured leaning up on her elbows. He wasn't as…soft as he had been a year ago.

Castiel took his toothbrush out of his mouth and looked down at her. "You like what you see?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow.

Meg guffawed at his forwardness. "Sheesh, Clarence, you've turned so vain."

"I'm human now," he replied turning back to the sink and examining himself in the cracked mirror above it. "Isn't that what humans are? Vain?"

"Angels are usually worse" she said with a smirk, and getting to her feet, she took the toothbrush out of his hand and threw it in the sink. Catching his startled look right before she pressed her lip to his, she laughed, throaty and deep into his mouth.

He pulled back. "You're not like the other girls, are you?" He asked.

She laughed again. "What does that even mean, Clarence?" She nipped the bottom of his lip and heard his breath catch in his throat. "And I'm not a girl." She whispered into his ear.

She was stupid for thinking it would take much to get him into bed—it had taken very little.

Growling, he took over and pulled her up to him, one arms around her waist, the other in her hair. Her breasts pressed against his chest and his mouth was wet and hot as he kissed her, over, and over again until she was panting from desire.

"Well, hello there," she whispered, slipping her hand down between his legs and grasping him. He gasped and he pulled her down onto the bed, his shirt flying over her head revealing her breasts, pale and supple.

"Light of my life, fire of my loins…" he whispered against her skin as he took one into his mouth.

"So you decided to read a book," she gasped, throwing her head back as his tongue slid downwards.

"Dean promised me it had no spells," Castiel said, looking up from the plane of her belly. "Not that it matters now. I can read whatever I want."

"Then read me," she whispered. "What am I thinking?"

He cocked his head in that adorable way that made her quiver all over. "You want me to put my tongue here." He placed one finger between her legs and she whimpered. "Ah," he said matter-of-factly. "Women here seem to like this quite a lot."

"Then hop to it, unicorn," she growled at him.

"Unicorn?" he asked, his brow knitting in confusion as he slipped his thumbs under the thin cotton and pulled them down past her knees.

"Just...shut up," Meg muttered and pushed his head down.

His tongue was hot as it fluttered over her clitoris and she thought she might pass out from the building pleasure it caused.

"Someone's been practicing," she panted out breathlessly.

"Yes—" he tried to say, but he was cut off as she shoved his head back down.

"Nope."

Minutes later she came and she felt flushed and feverish. Castiel crawled over her, licking his lips.

"I like the way you taste," he said. "It's very…pleasant."

Meg looked up at him through hooded eyes. "Really."

It was not a question, but a statement.

"Yes," he replied leaning down. "You want to taste?"

Then his tongue was in her mouth and she tasted herself, like tangy honey and just a bit like him.

"I bet Dean tastes the same," she murmured slyly. "You've saved him enough in the past."

"What?" The look on his face made her laugh. "Why are you talking about Dean?"

"Jealous, Castiel?" She mock pouted at him, but he didn't get the joke.

"Have you ever tasted him?" A myriad of complex passed over his face, not the least of which was jealousy.

"You are!" Meg said in genuine shock. "You're jealous."

Castiel looked confused and then he blushed.

"Well, I'll be damned to Hell…" she murmured in awe.

"You already were," he pointed out. "And you didn't answer my question."

"No I have never tasted Dean," she said soothingly, stroking his cheek. "And I'm here with you, aren't I?"

"Yes," he admitted in that gruff voice that made her insides melt. "You are."

Not taking her eyes off his, she reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, slipping them off with his underwear. Grasping him in her hand she ran her fingers around his velvety soft tip. His lashes fluttered and then he was inside her. She lifted her hips to draw him in further. He closed his eyes and his lips parted, and she felt powerful at making him look as he did.

Suddenly her arms were over her head and she was pinned, her wrists caught between the bed and his large hand, and he was thrusting into her. His eyes blue as the sky, blue as the ocean, and she couldn't look away.

Oh God and Lucifer.

"Don't talk about Dean," he growled, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. "Never. Ever. Talk. About. Dean. Not here."

"No," she breathed out, knowing full well he was serious and she probably would regret it if she disobeyed. He may no longer have been an angel but that meant nothing, not where emotions and intimacy were concerned. He could still be dangerous.

"Kiss me."

His words brought her back to him and she obeyed, but she did it gently, taking his lower lip between her own to counter to what he was doing to her. As she knew it would, it calmed him, and he slowed down. She wrapped her arms around him and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He whimpered but she kept kissing him, not ever wanting it to end.

Something shifted then, and it wasn't sex. It was something else, something that burned her chest and made her want to cry.

"What are you doing to me?" he moaned into her ear, his hot breath making her writhe below him.

"I don't know," she choked out in a whisper. "I don't know."

"It's never felt like this."

"I don't know," she repeated, but she did know—she remembered what it was like, back when she was a human…the feeling they called love.

Then she was coming hard and so was he. Tears pouring down her face, she threw her head back and screamed,

"FUCK."

Angst was really not what she needed right now.


End file.
